What's your prescription?

Dear Marc, I see you often wear glasses. I, too, have poor vision, and wear contacts or glasses or I would not survive.

I mean this literally. Born in another century, without the aid of spectacles, I would have fallen into a hole or been eaten by a dangerous beast I never saw coming.

I look younger than my age. I look 12-ish, with wrinkles and graying hair. Hence, I have little professional authority based on my physical appearance. What little I have is made up by props, such as glasses and manly suits.

I look so innocent that customs at LAX once planted drugs on me to test their dogs. I know this sounds like a silly stand up joke, but I'm sitting down, and I'm not even kidding.

I work as a copywriter. See, insecurity seeps in even here, making it impossible for me to state "I am a copywriter", even after having made a living as such for about a decade.

One of my current clients is an eye clinic, specialising in laser vision corrections. I'm doing so much research that I will most likely use the money I earn on this account for, you guessed it, laser vision correction.

Will this mean I have to let go of glasses and lose what little professional authority I have?
Or should I keep the surgery a secret and change my prescription glasses to non-prescription?

What would you do? Are those real glasses you're wearing?

love, etc
-e

ps. To all you ladies lacking in confidence and bossiness, take the first step to an new, empowered you. Buy "Nice girls don't get the corner office" today. Or borrow my copy when I'm done. I'm still a nice girl, though I'm working on it, I'll lend you my copy. Plus a little bit of the dope the dogs couldn't find.

If you only read one letter this year, read this

Dear Marc, it's time for the 200th letter.

Do you remember how it all started?
My trip to London, because of you?
The happy ending?

My fitting room angst?

My failed career as a drummer?

My constant battle with my inner and outer looks?

My fight to find a wine resistant white coat?

My life coaching advice? ( it really works!)

My close brush with Vanilla Ice?

My clever observation of resemblance between Donna Karan and famous mummy?

What letter do you remember most fondly?

I loved every one you never sent!

yours

-e

We're getting closer

Dear Marc, we're getting close. Next letter will mark the 200th contact effort on my part and the 200th non-reply on yours. It's not making me proud, but not exactly embarrassed either. I'm usually a quitter, so more than anything; I'm surprised that we've both held out for so long.

Maybe this would be a great time to quit, or start writing someone else?
Dear readers, who should I address next time? Mariah? Beyonce? You?
All suggestions are welcome.
You may propose I should keep writing Mr Jacobs.
I just might. Why not, it's not like I'm that much more of an unwanted stalkeriffic writer at 300 letters than at 200. Or less.

For the latest in MJ news, hit the stores and get porny with it

love
-e

My way of phrasing it

Dear Marc,
yesterday, when I took the subway, the lady in the speakers, the subway MC if you will, told us the usual:

"Good day folks, no use cramming all of you into this particular train, there are more trains right behind us"

but then she went into the following explanation:
"there's something wrong with a train ahead of us, causing...causing this constipation in the subway system".

We were still crammed but now more merrily so. Constipation - it's a gas.

love
-e

Stina Wirsén is a genius

Never have I seen a picture that so mirrors my soul.

For more Stina, go here.

Fashion Fantasy #3

Dear Marc, I've been unfaithful. I've been drooling over the BCBG collection, especially the dress you see here. And the shoes. And the hairdo. It's a perfect interpretation of my Italian soul. See, within me lives Giulia, a sicilian woman who broke free from her family in the late 20's to travel around the world, before falling in love with Mayakovsky. He was still in love with Lili Brik, so nothing happened between us. But my Giulia took notes and cooked for him during the last sick months of the poets life.

There are people who claim that Giulia snapped this picture Of M and friends:














I, Giulia, was only 21 when M died. I mourned him deeply, then took off for France where I became an assistant to Madame Vionnet and took care of her little dolls.

At a party, where I wore that understated yet perfect dress and shoes pictured above, I ran into
an adventurous Italian count. We were swept away in a whirlwind romance and married in Sardinia. I am currently a very old but noble little lady, wearing a grey cardigan, navy dress and sensible shoes. I could tell you stories of the 20th century you'd never believe. So I won't

Gotta go, amore
-Giulia

The garden consultant

Dear Marc, know how the other day I talked about that Italian recluse? She was found after 26 years in her somewhat smelly apartment, a tiny scrap of a person, weighing in at an un-healthy 30 kgs but possessing hair, lots of it, 2 meters in all, streaming from her Italian skull.

I look out over our garden, and feel our garden is that woman. We've neglected the garden, the previous owner neglected the garden and now it has hair all over the place. We need help, desperately. So I called a garden consultant and I feel it may already have been worth it. Especially considering that those beautiful strange orbs growing next to our garden table, orbs so appealing to the 1-year old eye and touch, were most likely henbane, a plant appreciated by witches and Hamlet enemies due to its poisonous qualities. We removed it and threw it in the garden bin. If you have any goth friends, they're welcome to come by and pick up a little henbane, for decorating purposes or whatever the broody, dressed in black crowd is into now.

You have a garden? A green balcony?
let me know

-e

Ps. It's not just trouble, having a garden. This is our view from the lawn. I love that little gate to the forest. What's beyond? Who knows?

Our family's growing

Dear Marc, our family is growing. It now includes the above bunch of hairy creatures.
love
-e

Ps. The hairy creature at the table is Anders. He was there before, no new addition to the fam.

Britney baby even one more time

So they decide to name the kid Sutton Pierce Federline?
S. Pierce Federline?

Spierce Federline?
Spierce Spears Federline?

The joke is lost on me! He's just a baby.

Britney Baby, one more time, and other news

Dear Marc, did you read that Britney has delivered a second baby boy? Congratulations!
I think Britney shares my shoe problem, as she's always seen in flip flops.
Once again Marc, I implore you, help us!
















I threw out my old shoes today, after I bought new Stan Smiths (the I'm too lazy for anything velcro version). My high-topped Kareem Abdul Jabbars were instantly retired. Standing by themselves on the floor of the office, they reminded my co-workers of commercials. Commercials to keep the poor and the needy in mind.

Speaking of which, did you see this article about a poor and needy Italian woman who's stayed indoors for more than two decades? Her hair was 2 meters long! She's a lesson to be learned! Influenza is not that bad. Let some germs into your life today!

For more constructive and fashionable reading than this jumbled mumble, go to daddylikey. Melikey.

Got to go now, small child crying in the next room. I'm with you Britney, are you with me?
love
-e

Couple conversations part 1

Me: So what do you think goes better with this Bourgogne? Reese's pieces or M&M's?

Him: I don't know, let's watch the last episode of Entourage.

Me: I like Reese's, but sometimes I'm after the full chocolate M&M thing.

Him: Can we just watch Entourage?

Me: Can't we talk a little as well?

Him: No. That's the biggest difference between men and women. Guys don't talk as we watch.



There's an ocean between us.

Ps. Why fire Ari? It's your own fault. Don't ever turn down a fine breakfast.

Could this be a solution?

Dear Marc, you know how I go on and on about my broad duck feet and my struggle to find shoes and boots to fit them. Maybe I should just kiss that quest goodbye and embrace my inner monkey instead? I walk around barefoot all the time, but fall is creeping close and it's getting cold on the ground.

Perhaps this is the solution? The foot shoe, letting me get footloose without getting dirty or cold? Give them a touch of your magic wand and they'll look fashionable too.
love
-e

Do I need help?

Dear Marc, I don't know about you, but every now and then, I check in here to see if the site's been updated. I curiously click the bookmark to find out.

Does this make me a retard or an optimist?

love
-e

Little Friends

Things I've seen today:

A real hedgehog, munching on a big fish.

A brown bear cub, climbing up, way up, a tree. He made that big tree trunk look like a stick. I had no idea bears could be so, well, limber.

Two sister dolls, seemingly looking for a new home. My home.

Radio Days. And since, I've been humming that tune Mia Farrow sings about a laxative.

Get regular with Re-Lax

Get regular with Re-Lax

Start every day the Re-Lax way

Your system will feel so great

You'll want to relax on the top of the Empire State

Get regular with Re-Lax

Start every day the Re-Lax way

When your tummy's not so hot

Remember, "X" marks the spot

Get regular with Re-Lax

The Re-Lax way

----

Have to go watch another Allen while I'm still awake.

Ps.
Is Doug Ellin Jewish? I need to know.

B-day in pictures

Dear Marc, so the family dinner just wrapped.















The dinner scene (composition and lighting somewhat reminiscent of van gogh's potato eaters. perhaps we are them, in better times)
















The visiting chef.



















Beautiful creature, giver of great gift - long, red, Burberry sweater.















Beautiful creatures, givers of the gift of life. And givers of vintage cookbooks.















Life giver and wine bringer.



















Laugh bringer, cake eater.



















Flower smeller.

Saving money

Dear Marc, you know how you make fabulous knitwear?
Why not make sets with yarn and needles and patterns and sell to us, poor souls who are too hmm, too economically minded to shell out 238 dollars for a sweater we could, in theory, knit ourselves?

You know we'd never finish the darn yarn projects and would most likely end up buying the pre-made sweater in the end, to calm irritated, frustrated knitting incompetent hands.

A win-win for you.

I thought about this last night and how I wanted those boots.



















They look so sensible, almost like rubber boots. Buying them would be almost like buying a soap if you didn't have one. So necessary, it bordered on boring.

I thought to myself "It's my birthday tomorrow, I'll give them to myself". So what if they're expensive (570 bucks. Like one year of schooling in the country of your choice), it's my birthday, and they're quality MJ boots. It's an investment in my future. They're important boots. Raise my paycheck boots. Boots with dignity and a down to earthness I haven't seen since Pa Ingalls put on his shitkickers to clean up the stables.

I'll save some money, I thought and returned a bagful of expensive yoga clothes (I'll relax in the dog in my long johns and those boots) and took the bus instead of the taxi to a business lunch. 1/4 of the way there.

My business lunch was serious. I had to dress the part. I put my hair in curlers, dressed up in heels and new coat and hit the street. It was raining so I grabbed an umbrella. I was late, so I ran in the rain while opening the water shield, only to discover it was my daughter's tiny child umbrella with pink flowers and butterflies.

So much for acting the part of a dignified business woman. You try to be taken seriously, rushing through the rain with a kiddie umbrella and make-up on the run.

I thank my lucky stars every day for choosing a profession where I can work from my home and don't have to face people facing me.

Oh, and I went to the store and tried the boots on. There were none in my size. Between the returned clothing, the bus and the boots I won't buy I've saved so much money, this might be my wealthiest birthday ever.

Rich greetings
-e

ps.
Attaching a picture of Stockholm's best and brightest.
Stingy penny pincher seated in the middle, proudly displaying free gift presented to her because of important birthday coming up.














In that picture above, you can't see beautiful redhead Kajsa. So here's one more (with added bonus: a close up of Sara's specs tribute to Wes Anderson):

Eat my words

Dear Marc, do you cook? Or do you consume nothing but coffee and cigarettes?
I don't cook much, but I read about food all the time.

The Silver Spoon
Cook delicious Italian food. Or have another cup of coffee and enjoy yourself just looking at these pictures and dreaming up impressive meals to serve your loved ones. or dream about the day when they'll cook it up for you. My birthday is coming up (Thursday) and that's what I'm wishing for. I've cunningly presented this book to my bro and his girl, slyly suggesting that they'll come over and cook for me.

Fork it over
Do you ever wonder where the tribe of grumpy Jewish waiters went? The answer to this, and many other important questions are to be found in this book, written by the much awarded professional eater.

Alice B Toklas Cookbook
I've never actually cooked anything from this book. It seems too heavy and complicated, food from long ago, big on cream and eggs. But I love reading about Alice and Gertrude's trips around the French countryside. This book makes it feel like you're in the backseat with them in their little car.

In the footsteps of Agatha Christie
Travel around the British empire without leaving your couch. Travel with the best, travel with Agatha. There's plenty of food wherever the vivacious Christie goes. For example, she never leaves home for a picnic sans her silver champagne beakers. Not that she drank herself, but she liked to indulge her fellow picknickers. Lovely lovely lady.

Somewhat hungry greetings, it's almost lunch
-e

You make my heart soar

Dear Marc, there I was, listening to my Rufus Wainwright station on Pandora, when the software suggested I'd might like Dr Dog. And indeed I do! Perhaps you will too. These Minnesotan men make it easier to be a grown up. Cause, as evidenced in this picture, we don't have to!

you might just like them too!
love
-e

15 months

Dear Marc,
It's Saturday. I'm sitting downtown at my favourite cafe, thinking about my son, who's most likely thinking about me. We're trying to detox him from his extreme mom dependency. Babies like their moms, but this one's a serious addict, looking for the next mom fix even as he's in my arms. He's going overboard.

As usual, Cary Grant has described this afternoon scenario better than anyone else.

Speaking of his divorce from first wife Virginia Cherrill, Grant said:

My possessiveness brought about the very condition it feared: The loss of her.

He stole the words out of my baby's mouth.

Ps. Yes in that picture, Joel's cleaning the kitchen. Why else have kids? God, I miss him now.

Bunnygraphics

Dear Marc, did you see Sara's new art?
Go see!

love
-e